


He Smiled and I Died

by CarnivalofBrokenDolls (yourrhinestoneeyes)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Depression, Ed thawed out, Heavy Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Real Dialogue, long fic, mentions of Ed's past, season four, slight romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 16:19:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11740677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourrhinestoneeyes/pseuds/CarnivalofBrokenDolls
Summary: Oswald didn't know how he would handle it if Ed ever escaped his ice prison, but he never expected that feelings long buried would arise upon seeing just how much three frozen months could change.





	He Smiled and I Died

Oswald had always feared what would happen if Ed came back, if he truly came back. It was a plain and simple fact that he never thought that day would come, he had safely assumed Edward Nygma was now just another piece of property. Another stunning piece of art he collected and put on display for everybody to look at in awe. He never thought a day would come where he’d break free of his icy prison. He had felt that day on the docks when he had looked at Ed and his shaking hands as he repeatedly pressed the trigger of the gun that he had fallen out of love with him. He’d been so sure he felt nothing outside of pity for him. Seeing him there standing in the rain, that utter look of distraught and panic on those beautiful features making him look so young and lost and scared. It was a look that filled his chest with pity, a look that made him so desperately want him to put him out of both of their miseries.

It had been so easy to have Victor shoot him with the freeze gun, to watch his face be permanently frozen into a twisted look of panic and fear, his last moments of movement being spent screaming and lunging for Oswald. For months, he wondered late into the night if Ed had been reaching to cling onto him and beg for a bullet between the eyes or if he was lunging at him to put his hands on his throat, choking the life out of him like he had done Kristen Kringle just two short years ago.

For one straight month Ed and his enclosure had made their home in the Van Dahl estate and during that time Oswald had spent many a night drinking and watching him. Drinking and wondering if Ed could have loved him, if Ed ever loved anyone. He had wondered if Ed had even loved Isabella or Kristen, if he truly understood the meaning behind such a powerful word, a word loaded like the gun Ed had used the first time he had shot Oswald there on the docks.

Many nights had been spent crying, never sleeping, but just openly weeping alone in his king-sized bed. Fists hitting against the mattress as he screamed against his pillow wondering what Ed ever felt, if he’d just parroted pretty words he felt would make Oswald react in a positive way. He could never forget the way that Ed sat in the back of the police cruiser mocking him for loving, mocking him for letting himself feel things such as care and sorrow.

Often, he would place his hand against his stomach allowing his fingers to brush over the raised scar on his lower stomach, even though there was absolutely no feeling physically, there was enough emotional pain to cause his skin to burn. 

When Ed had escaped he hadn’t known what to think. He had been full of dread and fear, he became paranoid and terrified to leave his home. He had become ridiculously protective over Ivy, reminding himself of what Ed had done to his father’s corpse and fearing that he would be low enough to lay a hand on the head of the girl he now looked at as a daughter. He hated to think that Ed would be low enough to hurt the young girl, but in his gut he knew him, knew how low he could be when he was angry and unhinged enough.

It hurt at first realizing once upon a time he had been so madly in love with him. In love, enough that he had killed to isolate him and keep him all to himself, Oswald knew realistically that he was the cause of all this. He had convinced himself this unwell man was perfectly rational and fine, he had taken away something that made him feel safe, and then tried to make him love him back.

Once him and Ed did finally come face to face again it had been far from what he had expected. Ed was no longer dressed to the nines in his shining green suit and the hat he had stolen from Oswald’s bedroom, a hat that once belonged to Elijah Van Dahl. Now he was dressed like he used to, dressed the way he had been dressed on the very first day they had met. His demeanor was even similar, he seemed frustrated and lost, his wide brown eyes looking down at Oswald like he knew he should remember or he should be feeling a certain way, but he truly couldn’t recall what way it was he should feel. He had stuttered something out that was lost to the beat of the music that filled the Iceberg Lounge. Victor and Zsasz stood by the door eyeing him, waiting, and wanting to kill Ed without even a thought put to the action.

Oswald knew he should order him frozen and cracked into pieces or order a bullet in his brain, but he couldn’t find in it in himself to do that. Instead he stood face to face with him, looking up at him and remembering so clearly two years ago when they had stood facing each other in the GCPD. When Ed dressed in horrible thrift store clothes that didn’t fit him correctly, his hair falling over his face and his smile crooked.

What had really struck the deepest enough to make the scar hurt and for his heart to ache was when Ed referred to him as Mr. Penguin. A form of formality he hadn’t used in so long, he spoke the name softly with that uncertainty he used to so easily carry about himself back before his days of killing had begun. Oswald had often pondered just where it all started, wondered if he could trace his fingers along the cracks in Ed’s brain and his heart until he reached the root cause of his pain and his madness. He used to believe he was capable of fixing it, of curing him of the things that ailed him. If he showered him with enough designer suits and gifts, if he kissed him sweetly and brushed his knuckles against his cheek would that make all the pain go away?

As time wore on within weeks and months they fell into a motion, a pattern of sorts. Oswald felt his heart defrosting and pain fill his head as they fell into a familiar sort of habit. He felt as if they were recreating their history, this time he feared he would fuck it up just like the first round. He feared so deeply that Ed would get too close and then just like before he’d put a bullet in his stomach while angrily telling him he did not love him. The fear was overwhelming to the point he felt as if he were drowning, he could almost feel the dirty cold waters of the river filling his lungs and taking him under.

The first time he made Ed genuinely smile he felt his heart stop for just a second. A real genuine smile with all the boyish charm in the world, the corners of his eyes crinkling and the light dancing in his big brown eyes. His teeth were straight and white like a military cemetery and right then Oswald knew he was in love all over again, he felt his fingertips go numb and his heart pounding in his chest as he just barely smiled back at him. When Ed casually placed a hand against the small of his back he had felt like he wanted to let the waves crashing over him take him, he allowed the cold tendrils of water to wrap themselves around his body and pull him deeper into the abyss.

He let Ed back into the mansion, not to live, but to visit. Back to the point of giving him a spare key so he could let himself into the manor anytime he wished. He returned to the days of sharing himself with him, of sharing dinners in the large dining room and telling each other about their days over glasses of high cost wine. 

The pattern was dangerously easy to fall back into, routine was easy, expecting it to be different was the hard part. He felt Ed become more open to him, he never noticed him going back to his old ways. If anything, he noticed new things about him; he noticed the way he shrunk in on himself when a man raised their voice in his presence, the way he flinched when Oswald was in the midst of a fit and would throw something breakable. There were new things about Ed he was taking note of and they brought up more questions, he was beyond hell bent on touching the cracks in his brain and heart, feeling the scars from another life and questioning if he could mend them if he held him or if he kissed him.

There came a day where Ed showed up to the manor unexpected. No words were spoken, he clutched a piece of wrinkled paper in his hands. He looked disheveled and sleep deprived, his eyes wide and full of fear as if he had just seen Satan himself in his home, wherever home was for him. Oswald had heard through the gossip systems that home was a shack by a swamp with Lee Thompkins and Grundy. Tears rolled down Ed’s cheeks, his bottom lip trembled and before Oswald could utter a word, the taller man was clinging onto him. Oswald initially tensed before wrapping his arms around him, he rest his chin on his shoulder, hand rubbing over Ed’s back and he closed his eyes automatically remembering the day in the autopsy room at the GCPD. The way Ed had clung onto him crying, grateful to have a friend like him, he immediately felt sick to his stomach despite the fact he for certain was not the cause of Ed’s current state of distress.

Having him in his arms again after so long was a bittersweet moment in time. Knowing how suddenly vulnerable Ed was, it filled him with a sense of unease even as they sat on the couch by the fireplace again. There was a knot in his stomach and when Ed rest his head on his lap he felt every muscle in his body tense, not that Ed noticed. He was still crying, sniffling and coughing, his body still being wracked with sobs even after an hour after his arrival. Oswald rubbed his hand along his back, he eventually got up the courage to pet his fingers through soft messy brown hair that went in every which direction, so unlike the prim and proper way Ed had kept his hair before all this. Still the paper was clutched in his fists, knuckles bone white with the pressure he was applying. Oswald didn’t ask him what it said, what that seemingly harmless piece of paper obtained that could reduce him to such a state. It felt like a God send when Ed finally did cry himself to sleep, Oswald moved himself from the couch and pried the paper from his hands. He read over it and found it was a letter from Ed’s mother, in a way that felt angered yet clinically factual she wrote that his father had died. Apparently, death by brain cancer, they hadn’t caught it in time and he had fallen dead at work. The letter ended with her not asking her son to attend the funeral service, but ended with her telling him that if he knew what was best for himself and for the rest of the family he would stay hidden away in Gotham. Oswald placed the letter back with Ed then went to the kitchen to begin preparing a dinner for the both of them, setting a third place just in the case that Ivy would take interest in joining them.

For him that night felt like the first night where he saw a new side of Ed, another piece of the puzzle unlocked and an explanation to one of the cracks in his brain. During dinner he’d been so quiet, head lowered and eating slowly and cautiously as if somebody would take his food from him or scream at him for eating at all. Oswald would try small talk despite how much he loathed the act of such trivial things, Ivy bombarded him with questions about why his eyes were red and puffy, asking him what it had been like to be sort of dead, but not completely dead. Oswald had yelled at her to be quiet, the sound of his raised voice causing Ed to jump and drop his fork on the floor, he immediately got to his feet apologizing profusely for being clumsy and stupid, for dropping things, and for flinching. Before anybody knew what was happening he was curled up on the floor with his legs pulled up against himself, sobbing and pulling at his hair.

That was the night that Oswald let himself trace every crack and broken piece of Ed’s mind and his heart. It took work and gentle toned words to get him to relax, to get up from the floor. Oswald took him up to his old bedroom and expected that Ed would just want to be alone, but instead he’d asked him to stay. His voice had been shaky and unsure as if he feared rejection, the type of rejection that Oswald always feared and had received in tenfold. Oswald sat with him on the bed, Ed rest his head against his chest and kept his arms wrapped around him. After so much silence Oswald confessed he’d read the letter, he gently prodded for Ed to tell him about what had happened earlier and why his mother would tell him to not attend his own father’s funeral. 

Ed spent a good hour crying and telling him everything, horrible things that explained so much, but filled him with pain to hear. He had found himself holding onto Ed just a bit tighter, even kissing the top of his head. He had apologized to him more times than he could count for the sins of a dead man, sins he had no part in, but he felt he should apologize to him for the pain he was filled with. When Ed finally pulled back to look at him he’d looked like somebody Oswald had never known before. Somebody scared who didn’t seem to have a clue where their place in the world was any longer. When he placed a hand against Oswald’s cheek there was something in his brain screaming for him to smack his hand away, to shove him out of the bed and threaten to murder him if he didn’t leave his home. He felt like Ed was mocking him with the way he was staring up at him with his bright anxious brown eyes, the way his fingers curled sweetly against his skin. Oswald had the strongest urge to turn his head to the side and kiss the palm of his hand. He found his own hand moving to the back of Ed’s neck, fingers brushing through the short brown hairs then up through his unruly brown locks that used to be slicked back with a ridiculous amount of hair product. It wasn’t highly unexpected when Ed tentatively pressed his lips to his, the kiss so cautious and short that Oswald barely had the time to register that it had occurred. Ed pulled back, eyes wide and scared, he had the look on his face like he had the evening Oswald blurted out his love for him, that look of panic before he turned and ran away. Oswald leaned down kissing him gently, he refused to just let him run off again without explanation. There was an overwhelming sense of relief when Ed kissed back, a bit of bravery in the pressure of his lips. It was one of those key moments where he wished he could freeze time, where it never had to end, but within seconds they were breaking apart and Ed was just staring up at him with tears shining in his eyes. Oswald brushed the tears from his cheeks and was happy to have the younger man leaning into his touch, he pressed a kiss to his forehead whispering to him that It was okay now.

The rest of that first night was spent in a strange dreamlike sense of ease. Ed begged him to stay and Oswald had obliged, he had gotten under the sheets with him keeping close. Ed’s head rested on his chest just needing to hear the steady beating of his heart and Oswald kept a protective arm wrapped around him keeping his thin body close against him. Curled up with the man who tried to murder him more than once, the man who mocked his love, but now so desperately craved it. Once Ed was asleep he found himself crying, he held onto Ed’s sleeping form and buried his face in his hair just allowing himself to quietly sob. 

Quite a few nights went on like that, days where he acted as if the situation was normal and that it didn’t sting what so ever, but by night he would isolate himself and cry. It went on for weeks until one night he locked himself in his study drinking, sobbing and thinking over everything. Thinking over every loss he had suffered within a year, thinking about the fact that he was repeatedly sharing a bed with the first man he loved, the man who shot him, taunted him, and treated him like he was pathetic for feeling love. It had startled him when Ed entered the room, but he couldn’t stop himself in his crying or his drinking. He continued, when Ed tried to touch him he slapped his hand away. He stood and nearly fell, his leg hurting terribly as he limped forward and screamed at him. Ed backed up until he hit a wall, there was that fear in his eyes and no hint that he might try and defend himself. He just let Oswald scream, the most horrid things spilled from him in that moment, he roughly grabbed Ed’s wrist and pressed his hand to his stomach over the scar. He damned him for shooting him, damned him for never giving him a chance, for coming back into his life and picking up like the past year had never taken place. He threw the bottle to the ground, the glass cracking upon impact. He was sickened and confused when Ed held him, a hand against the back of his head. He allowed for Ed to hold him, he buried his face against his chest inhaling the scent of his cologne, a scent that lingered on his robe for a good month. He clung onto him and told him he hated him over and over, Ed slid to the floor holding him.

Together they sat in relative silence, the only sound breaking through were Oswald’s drunken sobs. 

It would be two more nights before they would talk about what had happened, about what they were feeling. Two more nights until Oswald would undress and allow Ed to see the horrid scar he had created on Oswald’s pale freckled skin. A mark that Ed carefully touched over with his index finger before leaning forward and kissing along it whispering over and over that he was sorry. Oswald pet his fingers through his hair and silently cried as he kissed the scar, when Ed noticed his crying he stopped. He moved up to kiss his cheeks, his lips brushing over his tear stained skin. That night had been intense and it had been beautiful and damaged. It was the first time Oswald felt like his wounds were properly being mended, mended by the man who caused every one of them. Every touch and kiss healing something, bringing the broken pieces together again. Even if they didn’t fit together the way they were supposed to, they were still together and that was what mattered. 

When Ed whispered against his lips that he was in love with him it felt broken and new, he got what he’d longed for, but so long after he had initially wanted it. He had laughed from the sheer horridness of the situation, but told him he loved him too, he had kissed all over his face and held his body close to his just needing the feeling of skin on skin. 

Oswald knew what they had, what was blooming between them was not permanent and it was not what he had dreamed of months ago. This was not the fresh innocent sort of love he had been willing to do anything to receive. This was something rough and jagged, this was something that often resulted in nights alone crying, moments of sheer self-hatred as he looked at the man in his bed. Days of holding onto Ed and trying to mend his broken mind, heal his broken body that was worn from three months of being frozen. This was a love laced with unease and hate, knowing what they had done to each other and the pain that would always remain, but when they touched he felt the pieces push back in place. He felt Ed’s hand on his stomach and he would sigh against his lips, he’d shiver under his touch and beg for him. He could spend night after night crying out his name in the throes of passion and never once wanting to take a moment of it back. 

It wasn’t what he wanted and he knew for certain it was not what Ed wanted, but he knew in a twisted way it was what they deserved for all they had done and all they had suffered.


End file.
